


Regimental Bicycle

by WolffyLuna



Category: Gaunt's Ghosts - Dan Abnett, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rough Sex, Skull Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Colm had come round a few more times to ‘help’ Gaunt (Ibram didn’t consider himself mealy-mouthed, but he hadn’t quite managed to move past euphemisms, even in his own thoughts.) Then word of that spread, and Ghosts came to him to ‘help’ them. It hard started as a just a few, but soon he was in whatever the opposite of a harem was, with him shared around many. Not that he minded.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>The effect on morale was incredible."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Regimental Bicycle

Nothing made Gaunt want to chew his fingers off more than ‘hurry up and wait.’

By most measures, things were going well. The enemy veered west, towards a trap set up for them by the Trorian 12th. They just had to sit tight in case of stragglers mixing up their directions.

Not that ‘sitting tight’ or ‘stationary defense’ were the exact opposite of what the Tanith were good at. 

It was quiet in the east. Even Mkoll hadn’t seen sign of the cultists for hours, after the trap was set.

People sitting round the trenches seemed unnaturally loud with artillery out of ear short. The squelch of stepping through mud, the click of lighter, the sound of people breathing-- Gaunt swore could have heard it from kilometres away.

He walked around the trenches, trying not to look like he was pacing, and assessed morale. The Ghosts were evenly split between ‘bored out of their skulls,’ ‘wanting to bite their own extremities of off,’ or a mix of the two.

He did his best to distract those in the last two categories. No use to get too amped up, and exhaust yourself too much to fight. Gaunt tried to avoid that himself. Or at least not snap at someone for breathing too loudly.

Colm walked over to him, and pressed Gaunt up against a support pillar. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.” His breath smelled of tobacco and menthol.

Gaunt pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am fine. But I thank you for your concern.” Corbec rested on his right hand, next to the pillar. His eyes twinkled suspiciously, like he was planning something. Gaunt wanted to be not pushed up against a trench wall, at least so he could avoid this plan when it went off. 

“You’re not. The enemy is hours away. Even if they turn round now. You can relax.” He pressed Gaunt’s shoulders down. “They’re up round your ears.”

“As I said, I am fine.” Corbec started to grin, and Gaunt sensed it was far too late to avoid the plan now.

“I could help.” Colm’s smiled grew wider, showing eye teeth through his beard.

 _Help with what?_ Gaunt thought, until he realised Colm had tucked his thumb into Gaunt’s belt.

 _Ah,_ that’s _the plan._ He should say no. Colm was junior to him. It would be unethical.

It was Emperor-damned tempting though. He hadn’t had an orgasm since... actually let’s not calculate that, it was depressing. Normally he wouldn’t care, but with Colm pressed up against him, it suddenly seemed like an utter waste. (He tried to avoid his thoughts going on a tangent up pressing his lips up against Colm’s bristled beard, chests pushed up together-- Tried, being the operative word.)

And it would be nice to be _very_ distracted right now.

“If you say no, I’ll walk away. Say nothing of it. Don’t say no because of proprietary. We’re the same rank, more or less.” ( _No, we’re not,_ Gaunt wanted to interject, but thought better of it.) “I’m doing this because I like you. No other reason.”

Gaunt hadn’t understood how people choose the bad decision when they knew perfectly well what the right one was. If you knew the correct, the moral decision, what temptation could be great enough? He’d never fully understood the weak willed. But right now? He understood _perfectly._ It would have been easy to do the right thing, to say ‘No.’ Just one one-syllable word, and zero consequences. It would have been simple.“Let’s get somewhere private”

Colm grabbed the back of Gaunt’s head and mashed their faces together. It was more like headbutting than kissing, really.

If he ever needed to justify this, he was going to claim it was for regimental morale. Somehow. If Colm had noticed his stress, others would have done so, and so as not to spook anyone, he should de-stress as fast as possible. Something like that.

Colm was also definitely enjoying this as well. That was an improvement in morale.

He didn’t remember how they got to the dugout. Milo was elsewhere, thankfully. Ibram had no idea how he to ask him to clear out, especially not with Brin’s anticipating.

Colm pressed him against the wall again, and made quick work of his belt. _Note to self:_ Gaunt thought, _Colm seems to be keen on pinning people._

Ibram unbuckled Colm’s belt, fingers slipping. Corbec raised an eyebrow. “I’m not being greedy,” Gaunt said.

Colm grinned and kissed Ibram’s cheek, beard scratching it.

Gaunt pulled Colm’s pants and underwear off, and grabbed his cock. It was thick, girthy, and already leaking.

Ibram nearly jumped a foot in the air when Colm got his hand around his dick. He’d thought calluses would feel uncomfortable, but he was wrong. The roughness was... different, but nice. His cock had only been half hard before Colm got his hand around it, but after one stroke he was already full mast.

He stroked Colm’s cock. The angle was awkward, especially with them so close together, but Colm growled in his ear. Gaunt took that as a sign he was doing _something_ right.

The pressure built in his pelvis quickly, tight and painful, and he could barely stop himself from twitching. Corbec laughed, but it was ragged. He was on the edge too. Gaunt stroked harder, tighter, trying to push Colm over first. Corbec leaned his weight in Gaunt, pushing him into the wall further.

His breathing sped up, his heart trying to hammer it’s way out of his chest, and he couldn’t bring himself to think about anything but the pressure of Colm’s hand on his cock, and pressure building up inside him.

It was quick, it was dirty, it was awkward, but it was just what he needed.

Gaunt was glad for the wall behind him, so he didn’t flop over like a ragdoll. Colm came just a second afterwards.

Gaunt felt relaxed. _Very_ relaxed. So relaxed he was nearly god’s damned asleep. He pulled his pants halfway up, fighting to keep his eyes open, and fished around in his pockets for tissues.

He handed one over to Corbec, and used the other to clean himself up. He hiked his trousers the rest of the way up, and buckled his belt up again.

He stepped past Colm, straightening his coat. “Thank you for that.”

Corbec punched him gently on the shoulder. “No worries. You needed that. And I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it either.”

Gaunt climbed the ladder out of the dugout. “Still, thank you.”

He watched as Corbec climbed out, and made his way back down the trenchline. A little more sluggish, but that didn’t matter rightnow _,_ more relaxed, and with improved morale. That exercise achieved something.

He hadn’t expected that. Sure, the logical part of his brain guessed that might have happen, but deep down he hadn’t expected it would. He hadn’t expected it would have done anything for himself, either.

“He’s looking chipper, isn’t he?” Gaunt nearly jumped as Brin seemed to materialise next to him. Milo dipped his head towards Corbec.

“I guess he is.”

***

Gaunt still hadn’t cracked the mysteries of the Ghost grapevine. He still hadn’t worked out how this had spread.

Colm had come round a few more times to ‘help’ Gaunt (Ibram didn’t consider himself mealy-mouthed, but he hadn’t quite managed to move past euphemisms, even in his own thoughts.) Then word of that spread, and Ghosts came to him to ‘help’ them. It hard started as a just a few, but soon he was in whatever the opposite of a harem was, with him shared around many. Not that he minded.

The effect on morale was incredible.

***

Rawne leaned over Gaunt’s desk, right in his face, pupils small. “I can’t believe you’d do that.”

“I’ve done many things,” Gaunt said. “You’ll have to be more spec--”

Rawne cocked his head. His voice had gone quiet, and snake-like. “So that’s how you’d put it?”

“Put _what_ , Major Rawne?”

“Your hands down your troops pants!” He stopped leaning, and started pacing around the room.

 _Oh. That._ He hadn’t expected Rawne to be enraged at that. He was an opportunist when it came to ‘Things to be angry at Gaunt about,’ but Ibram still wouldn’t have predicted that one. “It is quite unethical,” Gaunt said.

Rawne stopped pacing, and looked quizzical.

“It’s unethical for a senior officer to fraternise with those under their command,” Gaunt repeated.

Rawne swept his hands out at Gaunt. “Yet Colonel-Commissar Ethical does it. You think it’s okay when you do it, because it ‘improves morale?’ Or did you just fall on their cocks accidentally?”

“Yes.”

That brought Elim’s ranting, careening train of thought back to a halt again. “That didn’t answer my question.”

Gaunt considered clarifying, but didn’t see any option that wasn’t digging himself a deeper hole or likely to bring a knife to his neck. “No, it didn’t. Is there anything I can do for you, Major?”

Rawne threw his hands up in a gesture of ‘I give up,’ and stormed out of the room.

***

“Colonel-Commissar Ethical.” Larkin took a swig of sacra. “You called him Colonel-Commissar Ethical. That’s the worst insult I’ve ever heard.”

Rawne curled up in a little ball of shame on his chair, head on the table and his hands on the back of his head.

“We should call him that all the time,” Bragg suggested.

“Shut up.”

Gaunt turned back to his dinner. No point drawing attention to himself by looking. He was just glad they’d both managed to get out of that conversation physically intact. Both of their dignities had been shredded.

“He’s going to do something tonight.” Milo nodded in the direction of Rawne. “He can’t stay like that. He’ll have to do something to feel better.”

“Thank you Milo.”

“Thought you should now.” He stood up, picking up his plate. “I should probably go practice for a bit, then hit the sack.”

“Good night.”

“G’night,” he called back, as he walked away.

Over time, everyone else filed out the ship’s mess, leaving Gaunt and Rawne. Rawne span his glass around, tense. Gaunt watched him out of the corner of his eye. Rawne wasn’t likely to try and stab him, Gaunt was unarmed and they had an agreement, but it paid to watch your back around Elim.

Rawne stood up, and Gaunt thought he was about to walk out, when he sidled over to Gaunt and slid next to him on the bench. Gaunt swung an arm over the back of the bench, on the opposite side of Rawne, and did his best to appear relaxed.

Rawne stared at the table, not making eye contact. “So, are you going to fall on me? Improve my morale? Whichever one it was?”

“Only if you want to.”

Elim looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“Even if circumstances force-- no, let’s be honest, make being unethical _very_ worthwhile, I still try to do it as morally as possible. It would be for your benefit, not mine.”

Rawne shook his head and laughed, bemused.

They spent the next few minutes in watchful, tense silence. Elim put a hand on Gaunt’s knee.

“Life is easier when you make your intentions clear,” Gaunt said. Rawne looked like he was about to bolt out the door. If he was going to, Gaunt was fine with that. More than fine. This whole --malarkey was the best word he could think of-- had only been not disastrous by the grace of God Emperor. With Rawne, everything was too rocky for this to be safe. Everything was to rocky for anything to be safe. Their relationship was a balancing act, with a pivot point that seemed to keep moving. So, life would be easier if Rawne just ran out the door and they pretended this whole thing never happened.

“Should I just shove you over then?”

Gaunt didn’t have time to process that before he clattered to the floor, under the table. _This is it. This is how I die._ He scrambled up. He hit his head on the table and went back down.

Rawne pulled him closer, and unbuckled his belt.

Gaunt relaxed. He wasn’t going to die today. Or at least not right now.

Rawne breathed hard and sharp, and struggled with the zip. Gaunt reached up to help. Elim slapped his hand away.

He won his battle with his clothing, and pulled his cock out. Pre-cum beaded at the tip. “I can’t believe you’d actually do this.”

He grabbed the back of Gaunt’s head, and shoved him onto his cock. Gaunt only just got his mouth open in time. “I bet no one realises how much of a slut you actually are.”

He thrust once, hard. Gaunt coughed at the intrusion in his throat, and tried not to retch. Elim laughed darkly. “You’d be surprised how good this feels.”- another thrust, more coughing -- “To feel the high and mighty commissar out of control, unable to resist”

He grinned, and picked up the pace. Gaunt stopped trying to control his throat, and focused on breathing through his nose. Rawne was too rough for him to focus on anything else.

Elim clawed his hands into Ibram’s hair for leverage, pulling out a chunk.

Spit waterfalled out of Gaunt’s mouth. He tried to swallow, but there was any room to work the muscles. Rawne wiped a thumb in the drool. “You’re so cute when you’re like this. Has anyone said that? Or have they just not been rough enough to see you at your best.” He wiped the spit off on Gaunt’s forehead.

Elim’s thrust even faster, and Gaunt hoped and prayed that he was close to coming. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. Bruises bloomed inside his throat. He swore he could taste blood in his mouth. His lungs burned, screaming for more oxygen.

He was harder than he would have ever admitted. To anyone.

Rawne shuddered as he came. He held Gaunt’s head still, keeping himself thrust to the hilt. Gaunt choked and spluttered. He smiled and let Ibram go.

Ibram tried to say something inspiring, trying to spin the meaning of this incident in his favour, but he just coughed. And coughed. And feared he would suffocate before the fit would subside.

Rawne grinned and swaggered off, looking like he’d won a con.

The fit finished, and Ibram dragged himself out from under the table back onto the bench. He slowed his breathing, wiped the spit from around his mouth, and did his best not collapse.

***

Gaunt found Milo leaning on the doorway to his quarters. He was about to tell him off for anticipating, when Brin spoke. “You alright sir?”

“I’m fine. Just had a vigourous discussion with Major Rawne.”

Brin frowned. “Is there anything you need?”

Gaunt pushed the door open. “Sleep. As do you, Milo.”

***

Rawne spent the next week looser. More relaxed. Less murderous.

Correlation didn’t imply causation, but--

Gaunt didn’t think he’d be able to do that every week. It was an impossible task. Every month, however...

***

Gaunt would admit that there are times he felt more like sex toy than a willing partner (with Rawne especially), and nights where it would have been nice to get some Emperor-damned rest.

Milo always looked pinched and worried afterwards. Milo was too young to know-- No, he wasn’t, he was of age, but Gaunt always saw the youth that’d saved him on Tanith. His view of Milo hadn’t aged with the real one. But there was still a gap, and Gaunt couldn’t forget that. It felt wrong when Brin comforted-but-pretended-not-to afterwards. Like he’d burdened Milo somehow.

Not that he could have stopped Milo. It was an anticipation thing. You couldn’t stop Brin from anticipating, he milked plausible deniability for all it’s worth.

It was nice to have someone around in the aftermath, even if they pretending they were around for a different reason. Listening to Brin ramble about this or that, messages from other Commissars, the pieces he was practising, was pleasant and distracting. Something else to focus on.

***

They’d won a victory (credited to someone else, such is life), the sacra flowed freely, and the Ghosts cut loose.

Gaunt nursed his drink, his head swimming pleasantly. He was a little more tipsy than he intended, but he couldn’t quite care. 

Brin Milo played his pipes, drunk. Or at least pretending to be. The mistakes were a little too slick to be real, the slip ups a little too telegraphed. No one else seemed to notice. Milo playing drunk was a favoured form of entertainment, regardless of whether the drunkenness was real or not.

He played a bawdy Tanith folk song, that in one memorable verse involved the protagonist having sex with a tree. People sang along, clapping along to the beat. Milo was distracted, watching the room too much. That helped the illusion.

He finished the song, and took a bow. Cheers and applause came up from the audience. Gaunt clapped along. Riding the wave of applause, Brin shouted “A clap for the victors!” Whoops and whistles joined the cheering.

“And a clap for Gaunt!” The crowd turned their attention to him, still clamoring. His ears went hot. Milo put his pipes down on his stool, and sauntered over to Ibram. The walk was confident, but the expression wasn’t; shaky smile and darting eyes.

Milo straddled Gaunt’s lap, and before he had a chance to react, kissed him. It was clumsy, and came across like an attempt to consume his face.

The whooping got louder, and there were a few dramatic ‘Ooooooooooo--’s.

Milo surfaced for air, and looked at Gaunt, flushed. Gaunt was torn between looking disapproving and very, very confused. He didn’t manage either. Milo dragged him by the hand out of his chair, and out the door.

Bragg shouted “Go Milo!”

Brin pressed Gaunt up against the wall. He clung to him, like he was touch starved and desperate for some contact, any. ““If you don’t want this, I’ll understand. But don’t say no because of my age or rank.”

“Milo--”

He breathed hard and shallow, and slipped a hand up Gaunt’s shirt. He kept it still, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. “I’m of age, and people fuck their secretaries all the time.”

Gaunt pulled the hand away. “You’re not my secretary.” Milo’s offer was tempting... but no. There were lines he wouldn’t cross. He’d danced over too many already. Milo was of age-- but there was a gap.

Gaunt couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. As much as he wished to.

“No, I’m a trooper and your adjutant. So yes or no?”

“I do not want to be improper.” Gaunt’s tongue failed, unable to say all he wanted to, needed to. _I want to honour you. I don’t want to take advantage of you, your age, your rank your proximity. I don’t want to use you accidentally._

“You won’t be.”

Gaunt realised that Lilith was right. Not _then,_ but now. Because he wasn’t going to say no. He should. This whole affair had been an exercising in not saying no when he should have. Milo clung onto him, and looked up at him with bright sparkling eyes, and Ibram couldn’t say no.

He tried to think of something eloquent to say, but his tongue failed him again. Brin Milo is laying himself out on a silver platter; smart, wonderful Brin, his comforter, and someone Gaunt will admitted to nursing a crush. “Yes,” was all he managed to say, before bring Milo up into a kiss.

Gaunt took the lead, keeping it slower and less face consuming. Milo melted in his arms. Ibram shuffled both of them towards his quarters.

Brin fiddled with Gaunt’s shirt buttons, as Ibram pressed the door open. They collapsed on the bed, both pushing each other over. Gaunt wiggled out of his unbuttoned shirt.

Milo threw off his shirt and pants. Gaunt pressed a kiss along Brin’s collar bones, tangling his fingers in his hair. Milo’s abs tensed and untensed in interesting ways as he fought with Gaunt’s belt.

A flush spread right through Milo, and he looked alarmingly pink compared to his normal paleness. “I really, uh, don’t know how to do this.”

“Let me show you.” Gaunt flipped them over, so Milo was underneath him, and pulled off Milo’s underwear.

Milo looked both pleased and startled. Even more so when Gaunt leaned down to kiss the head of his cock.

“All right?” Gaunt asked.

Milo nodded, and Gaunt started in earnest, enveloping Brin’s cock. Milo bit down on his knuckles, stifling a moan. He tasted sweaty and musky. Gaunt usually found the taste off putting, but now? It’s was the best thing ever.

Gaunt stayed slow and steady, more tongue than mouth, and lightly stroked the base of Milo’s cock.

Brin only lasted minute. Gaunt liked to think it was because of some skill he’d picked up in these past months, but it was most likely from Milo’s lack of experience.

Milo reached down towards Gaunt’s cock. Ibram pushed the hand away. “I’m fine, thank you. You look like you’re about to collapse, anyway.”

Milo promptly proved him right, and fell asleep. Gaunt curled up next to him content in the warmth. 


End file.
